


Remember Me

by GRtheS



Category: Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Light Angst, Older Woman/Younger Man, Past Lives, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-06-12 21:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15349284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GRtheS/pseuds/GRtheS
Summary: What if Mariah and Shades had a fling in 1999?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt courtesy of fellow obsessors nys30 and wannabeanauthor.

Harlem. Summer, 1999.

Mariah trudged down the block, dragging a folding luggage cart stacked with boxes behind her. Mama Mabel’s brownstone was a block and a half away, but in this heat, that felt like miles. Mariah had passed “dewy” ten minutes ago: she was SWEAT. ING.She stopped - _just for a second_ , she told herself - to catch her breath. She set the cart upright, the elastic cords threatening to pop against the strain of the load. She fanned herself and tugged at her dress. Silk had not been the wisest choice today; the material was practically glued to her and covered in unsightly sweat stains.

Mama Mabel had long compared her hot flashes to being on the grill at Lucifer’s cookout and Mariah imagined they felt a lot like this. Soon enough, she’d learn for herself. Her anguish soon became relief as she spotted Malik, a chatty young man in his early thirties, approaching her. Is that what men in their thirties were to her now? Young men? She was still trying to wrap her mind around turning forty. Grown as grown could be. It was a weird feeling, but also empowering. With Mama Mabel in declining health, Mariah finally felt like she had control over her own life, and she was desperate to live on her own terms. Starting now…ish. As soon as she (or someone else) could get herself home.

Malik approached, smiling broadly, seemingly unbothered by the heat. “Heeey, Miss Mariah!”

She forced herself to match his chipper energy. “Hey, Malik!”

“How you doing today?”

“Hot.”

“Oh, I know you hot, but I asked you how you was doing.” Corny. He'd probably been dropping that line all over Harlem today, but whatever: she was sick of lugging these boxes around.

“Well...I'd be doing a lot better if-“ She not so subtly nodded toward the boxes, but before she could drop a hint, Malik was off again. “Hey, Mr. Johnson! How you doing today? I heard about the flood at ya auntie's house..”

Ugh. He was so young to be such a damn busybody. Time to s _uck it up, Mariah._ She took a deep breath and mustered up the strength to drag the cart to her destination. From below, she could hear thumping music. She could kill Cornell. He was supposed to meet her at the printer's, help her bring back her campaign flyers. Instead, he was posted up in their grandmother’s house, doing whatever it is shiftless men do all day. Mariah knew one thing: he was going to bring his ass out here and carry this stuff inside.

“Cornell!” she called out. Shit, at this rate, he was going to have to help her canvas, too.

The music went silent. She called out again, “Cornell, I need your help!” Now there was a commotion. She could hear people scrambling, running. She hurried up the steps, opened the front door, and rushed to the kitchen, just in time to see the last “guest” flee through the back door.

Or so she thought. Pinned against the wall behind her was Hernan Alvarez. All of twenty-two years old, his t-shirt, baggy jeans, and Timbs nearly swallowing him whole. Sporting what had long become his signature sunglasses.

He held his breath, hoping she’d give chase out the back door, so he could make a break for the front. He picked the perfect fucking time to go to the bathroom. Cornell had promised a chill kickback yet here he was, trapped in the kitchen, surrounded by evidence of their fuckery.

Better her than Mama Mabel. Better her than anyone, really. He watched Mariah take in the damage: red solo cups, burnt out blunts, sticky counters splattered with booze, mixers, and potato chips. She turned around. Shit! He closed his eyes tight, hoping that she’d somehow miss him. Her yelp of surprise made it quite clear that she hadn’t.

“Who are you,” she demanded. And for a brief moment, he couldn’t remember. She was talking to him. Mariah Stokes, was actually talking to him. Never in a million years did he think he think this would happen and definitely not like this. There was no way he was fucking this up.

“Uh, hello? Just because you got those stupid things on your face doesn’t mean I can’t see you.”

Determined, he pushed himself off the wall, real smooth, puffing out his chest. He put a little extra bass in his voice and confidently cocked his head. "I'm Shades."

She scoffed. What kind of game was this little boy playing? “You’re what?"

Fuck. Why did he think that would impress her? He quickly pocketed his sunglasses and tried again. "Hernan. I’m Hernan."

She eyed him suspiciously. “Where’s Cornell?”

“Huh?”

“I know you didn’t break in here to smoke and drink up Mama Mabel’s reserve by yourself. You don’t look that stupid.”

This was going well. He might as well tell the truth. Kinda. “Oh he, uh...stepped out."

 _Of course he did._ Mariah sighed. Opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of water.

Hernan was free to go and yet, he couldn’t. Not yet. She looked like she’d had a long day and it was barely 3pm. He had to say something. ”You okay?"

She turned back to him, irritated. _You're still here?_

"You look…its hot out there, huh?"

"Shit. My flyers!"Mariah rushed to the front door and flung it open. She stepped out onto the porch and breathed a sigh of relief: they were still exactly where she'd left them.

Before she could take another step, Hernan jogged down the steps and unhooked the cords binding the boxes to the rack. “I got you, I got you.”

"Thank you,” she smirked, "Shades." He laughed, half embarrassed, half pleased.He was cute - really cute - with a smile that seemed to extend past the edges of his face. He easily hoisted the first box onto his shoulder and she couldn’t help but notice: he was lean, but cut. He had a body on him. But he was young. There was no way he was even Cornell’s age. What were they doing hanging around each other?

“Where do you want me to...” Hernan awaited her direction. She was staring. “Uh, you can leave everything in the foyer.”She shook the inappropriate thoughts out of her mind and made a hasty retreat.

Hernan made quick work of moving everything inside, neatly stacking the boxes against the wall, even carefully folding up the cart. He called out to her "I uh, just left everything in the hallway. That’s the ‘foyer,’ right?” No response.

He found her back in the kitchen. Barefoot, standing over the sink, running a handful of ice across the nape of her neck. Lost in thought. Cool water streaking across her hands, forearms. Down her back. Pooling above the curve of her ass. Faint lines traveling down the backs of her legs.

He watched intently. He could do that for her. She was beautiful when he was a kid, beautiful today, would be tomorrow. He just wanted to touch. Take the ice from her hand, put it anywhere she wanted. Kiss her anywhere she wanted. Bunch up that soaked dress, press his thumbs into the small of her back and-

He grunted. Involuntarily. Loudly.

She turned slowly, met his eyes. Dropped the ice into the sink. Grabbed a dish towel and brushed away the water, patting herself dry.

All he could do was watch. Any other girl, he’d have pulled close by now, felt her up . But this was a woman - **the** woman - and he was going to follow her lead.

Mariah picked up a few Solo cups, dumped their contents into the sink. If he was going to hang around, he might as well clean up Cornell's mess. At least she wouldn't have to do it alone this time. Hernan wordlessly followed her cue. They cleaned together in tense silence, Hernan taking every opportunity to be in her space.

The boy was not subtle, but as long as he kept his thoughts (and hands) to himself, Mariah could pretend that nothing was going on. That she didn’t want to see what was under that embarrassingly loud and baggy ensemble of his. Soon enough, the kitchen was clean again. Mariah closed the pantry door, satisfied, as Hernan washed his hands at the sink. He made a point to dry off with the same towel she’d used.

“You need anything else,” he asked. _Anything._

She peered at him, curiously. “How old are you? ”

"I turn twenty-three in a few months." Ten months to be exact, but she didn't need to know that.

"Good." She smiled, strolled out of the kitchen. Moments later, and to Hernan’s dismay, she returned with a flyer in hand. "Old enough to vote." She thrust it at him and he took it, reading aloud.

“Vote Dillard. A name you can trust.” He paused, confused. “Who’s Dillard?”

"I am."

"I thought you was-"

She cut her eyes at him: _no more questions._ He still had a few, but would keep them to himself. He didn’t see a ring on her finger so that was good enough for now.

She walked purposefully toward the foyer. It was time for him to go. He followed obediently, stopping to grab a stack of flyers as she opened the front door.

"I’ll pass them around my building." He was earnest. He meant it.

"I appreciate your support." She meant that, too.

He brushed past her and made his way down the steps. Just as she was about to close the door, he turned back. "Oh and Miss Dillard? I’m old enough for more than just voting."

Were it not for the look on his face, she would have laughed. But that shit? He **really** meant.

Knees now feeling a little weak, all she could do was watch him walk away. Fuck. She was in trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

Hernan was getting in good with Cornell, like “thisclose to inner-circle” good. Soon enough, he’d be able to bring his boys Romeo and Comanche into the fold. As Rivals, they did okay for themselves - smash and grabs, boosting cars, the occasional B and E - but that was kid shit. They were getting older with real bills and real responsibilities - hell, Romeo’s son was almost in high school -it was time to step up their game.

And so here he was, posted up in VIP at Harlem’s Paradise, popping bottles with the Stokes’ heir-apparent and trusted associates, celebrating the guy's first big deal. Cornell stood tall in his boxy pinstriped suit and raised his glass. Hernan and the other men did the same. “Gentlemen, a toast: to new business, new money, and new bitches.”

Hernan fought to keep from rolling his eyes. Cornell’s Puff Daddy act was tired, but he was soon to be the biggest game in town. Hernan would be a fool to fuck this up. And it didn’t hurt that getting close to the guy meant more opportunity to see Mariah.

The men around them postured like the fake wannabe rappers they were and offered their enthusiastic “salut”s and “l’chaim”s. All except one, Lonzo, who anxiously clutched his drink. Just as Cornell was about to take his first sip of champagne, Lonzo blurted out: “You clear this with Mama Mabel?”

Cornell sucked his teeth and glared at him menacingly. The entire mood of the room shifted. He looked around, feigning confusion. “You see her here?” Lonzo remained silent and cast his eyes towards the floor. Cornell snarled, got right up in his face. “Huh?”

Lonzo shook his head. “Naw.”

“Damn right. **I’m** running things. You want her input, take your ass down to the nursing home. Every other week they threatening to put her out cuz she over there running numbers and shit. Maybe you could babysit, hmm?” Cornell pressed his index finger into Lonzo’s forehead and pushed. Hard. “Shut the fuck up.” He spun around and roared at the entire section, “all this? About to be mine.”

Well, now Hernan was curious. What exactly did “all this” entail? He couldn’t help but ask, “what about the real estate?”

Cornell turned on him, taken aback by his audacity.

Hernan was unfazed. “I read something somewhere about diversifying your portfolio…or some shit."

Cornell took a long, hard look at him, then erupted in laughter. “Sunglasses at night, you a fucking thinker, man. I like that." He clapped him on the back a little too hard. "I get the club and the business. Mariah gets the other property.”

Now that the mood had lightened, it was safe for the others to talk again. Another one of Cornell’s cronies chimed in, “but shit, man, we kick it at the brownstone like all the time.”

“The old bitch ain’t dead yet," Cornell snapped. Until then, I got as much right to be there as my cousin does. After comes after. Matter fact, let’s move the party there.” The men nodded and downed their drinks.

Cornell turned to Lonzo. “Not you. Take your ass home and get some rest; you taking Mama Mabel flowers tomorrow.” Lonzo nodded obediently; on the scale of Cornell's punishments, he'd gotten off easy.

* * *

Mariah tumbled out of a cab and wobbled towards the brownstone. The night had been a bust, but at least she’d gotten a few drinks out of it. Okay, more than a few.

It was her own fault. The city council race was heating up and it was all she could think about. When her girlfriend, Lisa, invited her out, she thought maybe she could turn that part of herself off for the night, but she was in too deep. After the third guy (and procurer of Mariah's fifth drink) walked away, Lisa had finally pulled her aside, warning “May, these men don’t want to hear about all that politics stuff!” Frankly, Mariah didn’t want to hear the shit they had to say either.

So she left, fleeing to the safety of the brownstone, where she could go over her strategy and talking points. This was her fun. This is what mattered.

She’d been in the study for maybe five minutes when she heard them coming: loud, rambunctious, and on a mission to work her last nerve. Mariah was in neither the mood nor the condition to fight with Cornell, so she simply closed the door as he and his friends made themselves comfortable.

She tuned them out and turned her focus to her notecards.

* * *

Hernan knew what he was supposed to do tonight - show Cornell his value, his potential  - but his mind was stuck on one thing. He was in her house. Was she here, too? Had to be, it was late, almost 2am. She was probably in bed by now. Or was she? He couldn’t help but notice that the lights were on upstairs.

He took stock of his surroundings: a rousing round of dominoes here, an aggressive game of spades there, Cornell seated at the piano, lost in a melody. He wouldn’t be missed. “Gotta take a leak,” he mumbled loud enough for no one to hear. He pretended to head for the downstairs bathroom and, making sure no one was watching, quickly slipped upstairs instead.

Hernan was familiar enough with the Stokes house to know who slept where and what rooms he couldn’t enter (pretty much all of them), so as he walked the hallway of closed doors, he recognized the one with light peeking out as the study. Well, Mama Mabel’s study, now Mariah’s second office. The study was as off-limits as just about every other room but Shades figured if she wasn’t in there, no harm no foul and, if she was…well…He removed his sunglasses and tucked them in his back pocket, just in case.

He pushed open the door and there she was: pacing the floor, animatedly talking to herself. It was cute. She was cute. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, folding his arms and watching her work. He waited until there was a break in her one-woman conversation. “What are you doing?”

She whipped around, startled. It was him. She thought she was done with Hernan - had done her best to put him out of her head, made herself scarce when she thought Cornell might throw another party - yet somehow she found herself alone with him again. This...boy, looking cocky as hell and slightly more presentable than usual in all-black and a gold chain. She wanted to ask him what he was doing here, but wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer. 

“Going over my campaign speech,” she replied, giving him just a little attitude.

He laughed. “At two a.m.? Nerd.”

“Idiot," she countered playfully. "What do you think Cornell’s going to do if he catches you up here?”

“Oh, I don’t get caught.” He rubbed his hands together, licked his lips. She eyed him suspiciously. Tonight he wasn’t posturing.

He grinned and beckoned her over. “Come here.”

Tonight he believed his own hype. She narrowed her eyes. “You drunk?”

“I was out." He deliberately looked her up and down. "You look like you been out, too.” Mariah was wearing one of her dozens of little black dresses, but in that moment, she felt naked. And fucking hot. Suddenly, politics were the last thing on her mind.

“You come here,” she volleyed. Cute that he thought he could tell her what to do.

That was all Hernan needed to hear. “Bet.” He started to walk towards her when suddenly, Cornell’s voice rang out.

“Yo, Sunglasses! Shades! Fuck did he go?” Cornell had had a few more drinks and desperately needed to share this new brilliant idea of his with his "thinking buddy."

He stormed up the stairs, making a beeline for the study. Mariah rushed over and caught the door, just as he started to open it, leaving just a crack through which to speak.

“What do you want, Cornell?” She pressed her foot against the door and Hernan did the same.

“Looking for one of my boys. Lil' nigga just up and disappeared." He crooked his neck, trying to get a look inside. "You see anybody?”

“No,” she lied. Not very well, but he was hopefully too drunk to tell.

It was a risk for so many reasons, but the liquor was talking to Hernan and it was telling him to touch. He reached out and started playing in her hair, caressing her soft curls. Mariah looked down at her feet and smiled.

Cornell eyed her suspiciously. “What you doing in there?”

“Minding my business. And I’d appreciate if you didn’t roll up in here late at night, knocking shit over and screaming your head off.” Out of Cornell’s view, Hernan ran his finger along the side of her neck, down her back. She exhaled slowly. Every part of her he touched was on fire.

Cornell was unconvinced. Mariah was being weird, but he didn’t really care. “Mmm. Okay. We'll do our best to keep it down, Cuz.”

Without another word, she pressed against the door, closing it in his face. Which immediately felt like a mistake. Cornell was gone, Hernan was behind her, and Mariah was afraid. Afraid to face him and see what came next.

They both listened intently as Cornell's footsteps faded away. Hernan was the first to break the silence. “So, you had such a good time tonight, that you rushed home to study.”

She shrugged. "Something like that."

He took a step closer. “So was it…like a date?”

She didn’t answer. He was breathing on her neck, brought his hands to her sides. “Mariah...”

She turned to face him. His eyes were serious, a little sad. The way he looked at her...f _uck._  

She clutched the front of his shirt and he wrapped his arms around her waist, heart beating out of his chest. He leaned in and paused, a look of concern flashing across his face.  _Is this okay?_   She nodded, cupped his face with her hand, and they kissed. Softly, sweetly - this had been a long time coming, years for him - then deeper, hungrier. Her hands clutching the sides of his neck, his pulling her closer. Lips parting, mouths opening wide, consuming each other.

He pressed her against the door and she explored his body, feeling the ripple of his abs through his shirt, his chest. Caressing his face as his hands traveled down the curves of her body. His skin was so smooth...too smooth. She was suddenly painfully aware of his youth. His twenty two year old tongue was in her mouth. His twenty two year old hands were gripping her ass. Pressed firmly against her abdomen was his twenty two year old -

“I can’t.” She pushed him off, broke their kiss.

They were both panting, gasping for air. He was confused, to say the least.

"What?" He pulled her in for another kiss, but she turned her head, avoided eye contact.

“You should go." He grabbed her hand, slid it under his shirt, pressed it against his chest. His heart was pounding. _Can’t you feel that?_ And she could. Hers was beating just as fast.

She regarded him sadly. “I...really need to focus right now. On my campaign.” He frowned, let her hand go. He didn't believe her for one second, but nodded like he understood. He sighed, cast one last look at her, and slipped out of the room.

Mariah returned to her desk, making a half-hearted attempt to get back to her notecards. She heard the front door open and close downstairs. Heard Cornell exclaim “motherfucker, where you been?”

“Out for a smoke. My bad.” Hernan was a much better liar than she was.

"Whatever, we got the next game. Don’t up and disappear again; that’s not how we do” Cornell scolded.

Mariah could hear the apprehension in Hernan's voice. “Just had something on my mind.”

She tossed her cards aside and buried her face in her hands. What was she doing?


	3. Chapter 3

Election night in Harlem. Mariah’s campaign headquarters, a shared space of offices and work stations rented out by assorted professionals, was packed, filled with supporters. Not “Stokes family” supporters, **hers**. Her stomach churned. She was on the verge of a new start, an opportunity to forge her own identity. To make her name a point of respect, not fear or derision.

Looking around the room, at old classmates, sorors, frat, colleagues from various organizations, her assistant Lena buzzing about, Mariah was overwhelmed. Never in her wildest dreams did she expect this many people to show up just for her. And after all the head-butting they’d done lately, the last person she expected to walk through the door was Cornell. Mariah was almost touched...until she realized that her cousin had brought friends: several young looking idiots who made a beeline for the alcohol. And Hernan. Of course he was here, he was everywhere. The brownstone, the club. Last week she spotted him in the market and hid behind the baby food to avoid facing him. Imagine that: a forty year old woman hiding from her crush.

There was no hiding tonight, for either of them. She watched him, internally cringing as he attacked the hors d’oeuvres table, stacking his plate like he was at a Vegas buffet. At least he looked nice, wearing what must have passed for dressing up in his mind: khakis and a button down. _Stop it, Mariah. Being so judgmental. Why do you even care?_ He must have felt her eyes on him because he suddenly stopped and looked right at her, almost waved. She forced a tight smile and quickly averted her gaze, desperately seeking a distraction. **Another** distraction.

“Ms. Dillard!” Cornell approached, two glasses of wine in hand, and made a big show of hugging her. He murmured in her ear. “This is a good look, Cuz. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Cornell. Surprised to see you.” Her smile was wide, her tone, nice nasty.

He handed her a glass. “Well you know, if you win, I like to feel like I was instrumental. Had the fellas passing out your materials, putting in a good word around the city.”

“Is that so?” She was both skeptical and mildly impressed.

“‘Course,” he nodded. “Family first.”

“Always.” They clinked glasses and looked out at the crowd.

Cornell lowered his voice. “Look at us. On the verge of some king and queen shit. About to rule Harlem just the way the old bitch wants it.”

“No,” she protested. “Not me.”

A dark look crossed his face. He seemed hurt, a little jealous. “Oh so you better, huh?”

She placed a calming hand on his arm; she didn't want trouble. “I’m not saying that, I just-“

He shrugged her off. “You think politics is your way out. Think you can just change your name, get a new bougie-assed job, and that’s that.” Cornell downed his wine in one gulp and spat, “wait on it. Buggy and Mabel ain’t done with you yet.”

A chill ran down Mariah’s spine. That felt like a threat. Cornell sauntered away to mingle with other guests. She watched him go, wondered if he'd already begun poisoning people against her. One of Cornell’s friends, who’d surprisingly been glued to the TV all night, called out: “aye yo, turn that up, they about to announce the results!”

Lena scrambled to turn up the volume as the anchor on screen droned: “and with ninety-eight percent of precincts reporting, we can now safely call the District 9 city council seat for Harlem native, Mariah Dillard.”

The room erupted into raucous applause. She’d done it, she’d really done it. It hadn’t been easy - going up against a long-time incumbent, single-handedly financing her campaign, doing her own legwork, and combatting nasty insinuations about her motives - but she’d persevered. This could literally be the happiest moment of her life: she was her own woman and finally everyone else knew it.

Which is probably why Cornell was so quick to clear his throat and silence the crowd. He stepped out into the center of the room, clutching his chest, beaming with faux-pride. “On behalf of the entire family, I just want to say congratulations to my big cousin, **Councilwoman** Mariah Dillard” A sly smile spread across his face. ”…Stokes.”

Mariah’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t even let her have one moment. She forced a gracious smile. “Thank you Cornell. I couldn’t have done it without you. Without any of you. And I just want to say-“

“After party at Harlem’s Paradise, everybody,” he crowed, cutting her off. The crowd cheered, all a tizzy.

Mariah shot a panicked look at Lena who wasted no time stepping in. “Actually everyone, we’ve got a room reserved at a wonderful lounge down the street, if you want to follow me. We can take the party there!”

Cornell smirked at Mariah - _you think of everything_ \- then announced, “first round’s on me!”

That cleared the room quickly. Wine had been cute, but the people were ready for hard liquor. Mariah hung back. That easily, Cornell had fucked up her mood. If she was going to be there with those people, now her constituents, she needed to have her shit all the way together and self-doubt had already started to creep in. Besides, the last time she mixed alcohol and Cornell’s little friend, she’d nearly forgotten herself. She didn’t want those problems tonight.

So she milled about the office, throwing out unfinished plates, dumping drinks, stacking folding chairs, fantasizing about decorating her official office.

There was a tap on the door. She peered through the glass and froze. 

* * *

 

Hernan had told himself to leave her alone - he didn’t want to be one of those creepy guys who wouldn’t take no for an answer - so he hung out at the brownstone less, made himself scarce unless absolutely necessary. But the thing was, she’d never said “no.” It was “not right now.”

“l need to focus right now,” she’d said. And every day since then, Hernan had wondered exactly what amount of time measured up to "right now." How many days was that? How many hours? Seconds?

Crashing her election party wasn’t his idea, but he‘d planned to make it his opportunity. He’d hoped to catch her at the lounge - at the end of the bar, in a hallway, outside catching a breath of fresh air - somewhere they could have a moment alone. Figure this out. But she didn’t show.

Within ten minutes of being there, he knew she wasn’t coming. Cornell was on one tonight and adding liquor plus a hundred people he could neither impress nor intimidate was risky. She wouldn’t want to be around for that.

So Hernan dipped out, figuring he could take the after-party to her. He made a quick stop at the corner store and hustled back to her office, praying she hadn’t left.

The lights were still on. He could see movement inside. He approached the door, gift bag in hand, and there she was. He tapped on the glass and she looked at him like she’d seen a ghost.

This time, he did wave. “Hi.”

Mariah looked like a deer in headlights but had the wherewithal to respond. “Hi.”

He gestured toward the column of locks lining the door. “Can i come in?”

 _No, Mariah no._ Her feet started to move and she found herself unlocking the door, letting him in.

“You didn’t come to the bar,” he offered, trying to explain his presence.

“No.” She was tense, didn’t feel like justifying herself  

“Well, I voted for you, got the fellas to do it too. Let Cornell think it was his idea.”  
She laughed. “He must’ve thought I was going to lose. “

Shades frowned, confused.

“He was going to gloat,” she explained. “Cornell seems to think that me having anything means something’s been taken from him.”

He nodded thoughtfully and she immediately regretted telling him that. “You two are close.”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “That’s just the big homie.”

“Well, you should probably get back to big homie.” She turned her back to him and got back on task.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he blurted. “Because of how it would look? But now now that you won-“ He took a step closer to her.

She could have had Lena arrange for a service but tonight, personally cleaning up the office was suddenly Mariah’s number one priority. She needed to take her mind off Cornell, off of this...whatever this was. He wasn’t going to distract her. “Hernan…”

“You can do what you want,” he pressed.

She purposefully gathered a few more plates, tossed them in the trash. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“At the rest of sounding even younger - because i think that’s your problem - do you like me?” He was getting frustrated. The least she could do was stop dancing around the obvious.

Stunned, she turned to face him. She had no idea how to answer the question, so she didn’t...directly. She stammered, “I still have to worry about reelection and partnering with other council members, local officials, community organizations...”

More evasive maneuvers. He got it: _not enough_. “Congratulations.” He handed her the gift bag.

Mariah reached into it, fished around inside - he’d even sprung for tissue paper - and pulled out a bottle of champagne. “What’s this?”

“The fanciest bottle they had at the bodega,” he shrugged.

Now she was genuinely touched, speechless. They stared at each other, almost entranced, both with something to say, both waiting for the other to say it first.

He sighed. “Okay, well...”

She snapped out it, shook her head. “Yeah, okay.”

They awkwardly went in for a hug. “I’m happy for you,” he exhaled in her ear, sending tingles down her spine. He squeezed her tightly and she could feel herself melting in his arms. _Oh god Mariah, no. You were so close to getting out of this!_

“Thank you for understanding,” she murmured. “For supporting me.” Fuck it. She grazed his neck with her lips. “For thinking of me.” She did it again, landing just above his collar. “Coming tonight.” This time, he met her lips with his. She smiled, kissed him harder, more fervently. Sucked at his bottom lip. He cupped her face with his hands, their tongues intermingling.

She tugged at his shirt, untucking it from his pants. Dragged him with her as she backed up against a desk. He picked her up and placed her atop it, stepping between her legs as she ran her hands beneath his shirt.

She clutched his sides and pulled him close, kissed him again. “Do you have a condom?”

He groaned, shook his head no.

She laughed ruefully - of course - pressed her hands against his abdomen, pushing him away.

He held his ground. “Wait, wait, wait.” He caressed the outsides of her thighs, looked her in her eyes. “I got you.” She nodded breathlessly.

They kissed again. He pushed her further back on the desk, rolled up her skirt, slipped her panties around her ass, over her knees, past her toes. He kissed his way back up her body - calves, knees, inner thighs - and spread her legs. Mariah lay back, feeling his hot breath against her.

He slid his hands beneath her, gripping her ass, and lapped at her, burying his face in her folds. Mariah stretched her arms above her head, exhaled. That felt nice, really nice but...she shifted her hips, hoping he’d take the hint. She wasn’t risking her brand new title for just “nice.” This was a celebration; she deserved fireworks.

She propped herself up on her elbows and peered at him. What was he doing down there? Sadly, and adorably, he was giving it his all. “Hernan. “

“Hmm?” He'd received head plenty of times, but returned the favor rarely - half-hearted efforts at best. He regretted that now. He could tell he wasn’t getting her off, but was determined to keep trying until he did. This couldn't be the last time.

Mariah brushed her hand across his forehead. “Hernan, come here.” She sat up. He straightened up and loomed over her, a little embarrassed but trying not to show it .

She clutched the underside of his jaw. Traced her tongue along his lips, slowly making her way towards the center. Darted her tongue in and out, lightly at first, then more firmly. Forced his mouth open, finding his tongue, and sucking at it. Swirling around it with her own. She kissed him, then slid a finger in his mouth. And another, grinning as he eagerly sucked at them. She withdrew her fingers, kissed him again. Gave him a look: _got it?_

He nodded: _got it._

She released him and reclined again. He was a fast learner. Soon she was bucking against his face, convulsing on the desk. Fingers crooked inside her, he held her legs open and pressed his tongue firmly against her clit. She felt a familiar sensation brewing: the unbearable urge to pee. She couldn’t take it. She pushed him off as her legs seized, shaking uncontrollably. He watched intently, running his hands along her body as she came down.

“Oh my God.” She looked at him and laughed, both pleased and a little sheepish over the production she’d just put on. Feeling damn proud, he leaned over to peck her on the lips. She pulled him for a deeper kiss and soon he was on top of her, bodies writhing against each other, aching for more. They could both feel the erection straining against his pant leg. The question was: what were they going to do about it?

A sudden realization hit Mariah. She pushed him off of her, sitting up straight. Skirt still bunched up around her waist, she leaned over and began searching the desk's drawers. Unsuccessful, she moved to the cabinets nearby, then to another desk.

He watched her, amused, but confused. “What are you doing?”

“There’s a Planned Parenthood down the street; they’re always hitting us up for donations, dropping stuff off.” She broke out into a grin: this desk proved fruitful. She pulled out a brown paper bag, reached inside, and produced a condom.  
Now it was Hernan’s turn to grin.

She hopped up on the desk and beckoned him over, “come here.” He was already on his way.

She yanked at his belt, making quick work of unbuckling it, unzipping his pants. He released himself, khakis dropping to his knees and watched for her reaction. Her eyes lit up: she could definitely work with that. She tore open the condom wrapper and reached for him, but he jerked away. “Let me do it.” She handed it over and watched him roll it on.

They gazed at each other, exhilarated. This was actually happening. He stepped closer, and his breath slowed. She spread her legs and suddenly he looked so serious. He gripped her waist with one hand and used the other to guide himself into her. She sighed lightly, hands clinging to the front of his shirt. She felt so full, so good.

He stood still for a moment, eyes clenched shut, trying to gather his bearings.

She looked up at him. “You good?”

“Gimme a second.” He willed himself to focus, to not to get too excited. When he was ready, he began to stroke: back and forth, pressing in deeper, pulling back. Savoring every second of being inside her. Mariah moaned, moving with him.

That set something off in him. He drove harder, moving his hands up to grope her breasts through her blouse, drawing circles around her nipples with his thumbs. She threw her head back and hissed, wrapped her legs around his waist. They fell back on the desk. He intertwined his hands with hers and pinned them beside her ears, staring down at her. He was with Mariah Stokes. Had her undivided attention. Was touching parts of her he’d only dreamed about. He grunted and increased his pace, eliciting throaty rasps from Mariah. Neither of them was going to last much longer.

She wanted to look away from him but couldn’t. It was a silly thing to think with Hernan between her legs, sending shocks coursing through her body, but this felt too intimate. Like more than sex. Like more than a one time thing. The prospect worried her, but she didn’t have long to dwell on it: his thrusts had grown hard, deeper. Exactly what she needed. She gasped, her body tensed. Waves of pleasure coursed over her and she felt herself clenching around him. He groaned, hunched over her, pumping frantically. Suddenly, he cried out, drove himself deep within her and collapsed, dropping his head to her shoulder. They both panted trying to catch their breath, bodies throbbing.

After a long moment, he withdrew from her, removed the condom. She sat up and watched as he pulled up his pants. He rescued her panties from the floor and handed them over. She held onto his hand, smiled. He leaned in for another kiss. She let him go. Watched as he straightened up, tucked his shirt back in.

He enjoyed being watched, decided to press his luck. "So you and me..."

She gnawed at the inside of her lip. "I don’t know." She stood, rolled her skirt back down.

He expected as much. "Let me take you home."

She shook her head. "I’ll call a car. Go back to the party. I’m sure your homie’s looking for you."

He nodded, walked out with the hint of a smile on his face. “I don’t know” was way better than “not right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, SO...I consider this my first time writing actual, legit smut(ish? I don’t know). If you made it this far, thanks for bearing with me. The hard thing about saying you’re writing a fling is actually writing the fling, it seems.


	4. Chapter 4

Mariah had been busy. City Council was more work than she’d anticipated: stressful, with hours that often stretched from early morning breakfast meetings to power lunches, evening cocktails to nighttime galas. To maintain her sanity, she’d started scheduling herself time here and there to steal away and unwind.

Her mind raced as she walked up the steps to the brownstone - numbers, statistics, proposals, and assorted proper nouns clamoring for space in her head. Sometimes, it was struggle to keep up, but the work was good. Important.

She opened the front door. A calm washed over her as she crossed the threshold. The irony of this blood and tear-stained place becoming a safe haven was not lost on her. She called out, “Hello? Cornell?” No response. She had the place to herself, thank God.

There was a knock at the back door. She grinned, made a beeline for it, and swung it open, revealing an equally eager Hernan. Immediately, they were all over each other, barely managing to shut the door behind them.

This was their ritual. If she had time and he had time they’d meet here, fuck each other’s brains out, then continue on with their days. It was the perfect arrangement: Mariah could throw herself into her new role and have her needs met without having to cater to anyone or their feelings. Emotional ones. She was happy to reciprocate other sensations.

She pushed him against the kitchen wall and pressed her body against his. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, nearly lifting her off the ground to meet his lips. They rarely made it past the living room. The closest they’d ever gotten to her bedroom was that time on the stairwell, her clinging to the bannister screaming her head off. He’d say it was because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but Mariah actually preferred it that way. Having a man up there had always been a big step for so many reasons. She liked Hernan a lot, but he was just for fun, reminded her of the youth she wished she’d had. The youth that was stolen from her.

He nipped at her neck, pushing the dark thoughts out of her head. He found the zipper on her dress - today it was on the side - and tugged at it, desperate to feel more skin. He was often confounded by the construction of her outfits, but each time presented a new challenge and there was some fun in that. One hand gripping her ass, he slid the other inside her dress, fingers tracing along her back and fumbling with the hooks of her bra.  
A key turned in the front door. They froze, exchanged a wary look. _Was that..?_

Yes, it was. The door creaked open and, without a word, they scurried into the bathroom.  
Cornell strolled into the foyer looking a little cautious himself. He thought he’d heard movement. “Hello? Mariah?”

Mariah locked the bathroom door and glared at Hernan accusatorially. “What’s he doing here?”

Hernan threw his hands up. “I don’t know!”

She shushed him and he bugged his eyes at her. “ **You’re** the one asking questions.”

The TV came on in the living room. Mariah put her ear to the door and listened as the fridge opened and closed, plates clinked, the microwave beeped. Cornell was going to be a while.  
Well, her day was fucked. She’d planned to wrap things up with Hernan then head directly to a lunch meeting, but now...shit. She was back in her head again, mentally rearranging her calendar, handwriting a note of apology, sending over a gift basket.

Hernan watched as she tensed up; fun Mariah was leaving the building. He pulled her away from the door and planted her in front of him at the mirror, wrapping his arms around her. She relaxed a little, peered at the couple staring back at her.

They looked good together. In moments like this, she didn’t feel twenty years older or like he was twenty years younger, she just felt...she didn’t know what she felt, but whatever it was, was good.

She leaned back against him, folded her arms over his. He squeezed her tight, pressed his nose into her hair, inhaled deeply. “Mmm.” He exhaled, kissed his way down to her shoulder.

 _More_ , Mariah thought. She was burning up, needed to feel him everywhere. She clutched the back of his neck, pulling him closer, ground her ass against him.

He groaned, whispered into her ear, “Now?”

She turned to him. “I can be quiet. Can you?” It was less of a question and more of a challenge.

Hernan gave it some thought - Cornell was just down the hall, but the TV **was** loud...The door was locked but - fuuuck. Mariah did it again. He looked up at her reflection and she was staring at him, devious smile on her face. She wanted to play.

 _Okay then. Let’s play._ Without breaking eye contact, he reached down, slid his hand between her thighs, started massaging her through her panties. He dragged his fingers across the damp material, up and down. Drew circles around her clit with his index finger - lightly at first, then more deliberately - his ring finger threatening to push inside. He watched her face in the mirror, eyes squeezed shut, mouth agape. He slid his free hand inside the front of her dress, cupping her breast as he stroked her. Her knees buckled. She whimpered.

“Okay okay,” she yielded. She took a step forward, placed her hands on the counter to steady herself. Hernan made quick work of unzipping his pants, getting the condom on. Mariah looked on, holding her breath. She loved this part: watching his expression change, like he was about to go into battle...the way he looked at her.

He gripped the backs of her thighs and squeezed, kneading his hands into her flesh. He worked his way up, cuffing her ass. Mariah couldn’t help but bend over in response. Eyes locked on hers, he slid her panties to the side, and pressed himself inside. Feeling herself expand to accommodate him, his inching towards the deepest part of her, Mariah moaned. Loudly.

They froze. Her eyes widened. Shit, that was really loud. A beat passed. Nothing. They were in the clear. Hernan laughed, relieved, and ran his hand across her back soothingly.  
Then the TV went silent. Cornell called out, “Mariah, that you?”

She shot a panicked look at Hernan’s reflection; he made no attempt to extricate himself and had the nerve to look relaxed, as if his death wasn’t on the other side of that door.

“Aye, somebody better say somethin’.” The floorboards creaked as Cornell rose from the couch, mentally preparing to throw hands. 

Mariah blurted out, “It’s me! I just uh, came home early...not feeling too well.”

“Oh, aight.” He unmuted the TV, sat back down, went back to his meal.

Mariah pressed her palms against the mirror and bucked against Hernan, catching him off guard. _Thanks for your help._

He held on, pressing his thumbs into the small of her back and returned the favor. Now it was a game: who could break who. Panting, hissing, biting their lips to keep from screaming, they rocked against each other, with each other. Mariah had the upper-hand. Hernan was a trooper, but she knew how to set him off. She clenched around him tightly and whispered his name, eliciting a decidedly masculine grunt.

Now Cornell was concerned. “You okay in there, Cuz?”

Hunched over with his hand against the mirror and arm wrapped around Mariah’s waist, Hernan was peaking and didn’t plan on doing it alone.

“Uh huh,” Mariah called out, weakly. “I think it’s something I ate.” Hernan reached down and began to stroke between her legs again as he pumped into her wildly.

Cornell dropped his fork. Shit. He got up and approached the bathroom. “You think it’s these leftovers from Lucille’s?”

Mariah was shaking, bent over the sink, completely incapable of standing on her own, and this negro wanted to talk about leftovers. She turned on the faucet, trying to drown out her gasps.

“Cuz...” Cornell was at the door now, could hear what sounded like her heaving into the sink. Whatever was going on in there was not good. “Should I call a doctor?”

“No,” she managed to choke out, sounding a mess. Hernan had slowed to deep, methodical thrusts and it was only a matter of time before she...

There it was. Suddenly, her body seized, intense pleasure rumbling within her and rolling out to her toes, her fingers, every part of her. She reached back, pulling Hernan closer to her, deeper, threw back her head, and choked down a scream. Back arched, eyes cast towards the heavens, body trembling so hard that, if he hadn’t been holding her, she would have collapsed onto the tile floor. A long moment passed and she exhaled, laid her head against the counter. Once again, she’d forgotten where she was.

“Mariah!” Cornell’s urgency brought her back to reality. Of all the times for him to show familial concern.

“I’m okay” she called out. Mariah shrugged Hernan off and pushed herself to her feet, just a little wobbly. She re-situated her panties, her dress. Watched as he tucked himself back into his pants. They were both quite pleased with themselves. To the door, she said “could you go down the pharmacy and get me some Pepto? Please?”

Outside, Cornell nodded grimly: “please” was not a regular part of Mariah’s vocabulary. This had to be serious. “Got you, Cuz.”

Cornell’s footsteps grew distant and the two approached each other once more. The front door opened, closed, and locked. He was gone.

Hernan ran his hands along the lines of Mariah’s dress, “smoothing it out,” then zipped her up. She buckled his belt, resisting the urge to pull his pants up to a more respectable height. They took their time, putting each other back together - just in case - before Hernan made his escape.

They were going to have to be more careful.


	5. Chapter 5

He’d shot a man tonight. Point blank. He had to do it - it was either that guy or Cornell and Hernan had grown quite comfortable in the younger Stokes’ employ.

He’d never killed anyone before. Who knows, maybe he still hadn’t. Everything happened so fast: the meet went south, Cornell mouthed off, the dude reached for his piece and - without even thinking - Hernan pulled his, too. Fired a round right into his chest.

Before he could even process what happened, a couple of Mama Mabel’s old heads hustled them into a car, sent them on their way.

Straight to Harlem’s Paradise. To establish an alibi, Hernan supposed. They slipped in through the secret entrance and joined some of their boys in VIP. It was like they’d been there all night. He wished they had.

He tossed back another drink. It was hard to tell whether they were pouring light tonight or if he was just that out of it; he couldn’t taste a thing.

It was strange: he felt bad, but didn’t. Murder was wrong - wronger than shoplifting, jacking cars, or beating someone’s ass - but it had been the right thing to do. Cornell dying would have thrown Harlem into turmoil, incited a turf war, had Mama Mabel ordering hits from the nursing home.

The streets would have bled for months. And, more importantly, Hernan would have had to start over. He had done what was best for everyone, he told himself. This is what he asked for and now he was really in it. So no, he didn’t feel guilt, but he did feel changed.

Cornell on the other hand, looked like it was just another day. He lorded over their section: drinking, laughing his head off, yelling about dumb shit. Pulling random girls from the crowd downstairs to join them.

Right on cue, a fresh pair appeared in the doorway: Ayana and Yadira. Dressed to the nines in sky-high heels and perfectly-applied makeup, these were obviously party girls. Making it up to VIP had probably been their goal for the night. Cornell greeted them warmly and pointed them in Hernan’s direction. They made a beeline for his section and plopped down on either side of him.

“Hi,” Ayana chirped, leaning into his line of vision.

He eyed both women warily. “Hi.”

“Something wrong with you,” Yadira inquired.

“Why,” he asked. _Was he so easy to read?_

“You got them glasses on, like you been to the eye doctor or something,” she laughed.

He relaxed: she was just being an asshole. “I’m fine,” he replied.

He turned his attention elsewhere, but Ayana was persistent. “What’s your name?”

“Doesn’t matter.” _God, take a fucking hint._

“Well, I wanna know who I’m talking to,” she pressed.

“And why you’re posted up in the club looking bored,” Yadira chimed in.

“Actually, I’m having the time of my life,” he deadpanned. He made a big show of shaking his empty glass: it was now his exit strategy. “Excuse me.” He got up to leave and was barely five steps away when he felt Cornell‘s heavy hand on his back.

“I see you ladies met my man, Shades.” He squeezed Hernan’s shoulder tightly. “Don’t let the shy act fool you: he’s a lot of fun.”

“I see that,” Ayana practically cooed.

Cornell clapped his hands together, pleased. “Great. Why don’t we make this a private party?”

Hernan turned his back to the ladies and lowered his voice. “What you mean?”

Cornell looked at him like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “Picked them out for you. Well, one of them. Chocolate, peanut butter, your choice.”

Hernan grimaced, did his best to straddle the line between casual and firm. “Thank you, but I’ll pass.”

It didn’t work. “Nigga, you been sitting over here lonely all night. Let me show you some appreciation.” There was an edge to his voice, this was not a request.

“Believe me, I’m feeling the love.” Hernan was practically begging to be left alone; he wanted no parts of this.

Cornell sucked his teeth, suspicious. “I don’t know, Shades: you making me nervous: acting real scary all of a sudden.” He got in Hernan’s face, looking for a sign of weakness, for signs of a snitch. “Are you good?” _Or am I going to have to handle you?_

Hernan met his gaze, cocked his head, didn’t flinch. He was going to have to buck up and be a good soldier. “I’m good.”

“Then bring your ass on. This is the least I can do.” Cornell didn’t want to owe anyone two dollars, let alone his life. He wasn’t going to let the night go by without repaying this debt. He turned back to the women and grinned. “Shall we?”

* * *

 In what seemed like an unending series of everlasting days, this had been an extremely tedious one. Mariah had been longing for her bed since probably ten am and she was so close to finally realizing her dream.

Bra cast aside, face washed, and teeth brushed, her nightly ritual was almost complete. She just had to wrap her hair. She stood at her vanity, combed her tresses round and round her head, forming a smooth halo. Satisfied, she reached for her scarf and tied it on.

She turned off the lights and finally, joyfully, climbed into bed. Just as she’d gotten comfortable, perfectly burrowed herself into the plush mattress, she heard them: Cornell and some drunk girls. He probably brought them here to fool around since he couldn’t seem to keep his own place presentable. She hoped he was drunk, too - too drunk - and that this nightmare could end before it began. As a precautionary measure, she jammed two pillows around her head to drown out his incessant boasting and whatever else would follow. She thought she heard him call someone “Shades,” but he couldn’t possibly mean **her**...nan. Hernan.

But he did. Soon enough, she heard his voice, too. She couldn’t make out what was being said, but he seemed to be in deep conversation with one of the girls. Enough of this. She had to be up early and she wasn’t going to waste good sleep on Hernan, his girl for the night, or her obnoxious, idiotic laugh.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the entire downstairs portion of the brownstone out of her mind. It was working, too, until she heard a tap at her door. Which drunk motherfucker found their way to her room? She tried to ignore it, but the tapping continued. She got up and swung the door open, ready to cuss someone out.

* * *

Up until this very moment, Hernan was secretly convinced that Mariah slept in business wear. Casual didn’t seem to be her style - hell, he’d never even seen her in jeans - but here she was, looking sexy as hell in a headscarf and a baggy t-shirt. Sexy and irritated.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Mariah couldn’t deny the fluttering sensation she felt, finding Hernan on the other side of the door, but she was still very annoyed. He wasn’t doing himself any favors, gawking at her with those stupid sunglasses on. “What,” she hissed.

“Cornell...wanted to celebrate and brought these two girls here and...” Hernan had this whole conversation planned in his head, but still found himself stumbling over his words. “I just wanted to tell you that it’s not like that. For me.”

Mariah shrugged, gave him nothing. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

Wasn’t expecting that. He blinked, reminded himself to keep his voice down. “So what, you’re talking to other dudes?“

We’re not talking about me we’re talking about you,” she snapped. He was mighty indignant for a man who just brought another woman to her home.

“Wow. Okay.” His lips pursed, tightening into a sad, thin line.

Hernan actually looked kind of hurt and Mariah felt a twinge of remorse. She was doing that thing again, pushing people away. She softened a little. Reached for his shades, plucked them off his face. Got real close. “You kiss her yet?”

He shook his head “no,” a smirk threatening to cross his face. “Thought you didn’t care.”

She touched her hand to his cheek, brushed her thumb across his bottom lip. “I don’t,” she whispered. She leaned in and kissed him goodnight.

He grunted, snaked his arm around her waist, kissed her again. Her hands pressed to his chest and he grabbed the cuff of her ass, fingers brushing up against the boundaries of her panties. This was a wardrobe choice he could get behind: easy access.

She moaned softly and wrapped her arms around his neck as he pushed her up against the door frame. Wrapped a leg around him as he pressed his body against hers and sucked at her neck. Ran her fingers across his scalp as he trailed down to her collarbone, to the space between her breasts.

Lips everywhere, hands everywhere, they became a mess of heavy breathing and petting. Straddling the line between her bedroom and the hallway. Bodies grinding against each other.

Suddenly, loud laughter erupted in the living room. The spell was broken. Mariah exhaled,  couldn’t help but laugh. What did they think they were going to do up here with those people downstairs?

Hernan dropped his head to her shoulder, caressed the outsides of her thighs. If nothing else felt real tonight, at least she did.

It was a bad idea - a terrible idea - but for a moment, he considered telling her what had happened at the meet. What he’d done. But he couldn’t do that - he knew better - so instead, he simply enveloped her in a hug.

And suddenly, Hernan felt very heavy to Mariah. Something was up and she was sure she didn’t want to know. She’d signed up for fun, yet here she was, rubbing his back, actually contemplating inquiring about his feelings. You’re supposed to, right? See if a person’s okay? That’s what normal people do, even when they don’t care. **Did** she care?

A loud, obnoxious voice rang out: “Shades, where you at, boo?” Ayana was missing her man.

Hernan sighed, released Mariah from his embrace. Time to get back to his “date.”

“We’ll have some drinks and I’ll send her home,” he promised.

Mariah nodded. Just two minutes ago, she would have loved for him to stay up here with her, carry her to bed, make her come until she passed out. Now she was relieved to see him go. “Do what you want.”

He took her hand in his, looked at her. Squeezed. “I am.”

He meant that. In more ways than one.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mariah and Shades go out on their first real(ish) date.

They’d traveled all the way down to SoHo just to see a movie. It was the only way Mariah would agree to go - that and picking the title. Hernan was hoping to see _The Blair Witch Project_ ; he’d heard it was scary as fuck, that people were actually puking on themselves and passing out. He envisioned Mariah burying her face in his chest during the scary parts, him wrapping his arm around her reassuringly. Not that she seemed to scare easy.

But no, she’d insisted on _Eyes Wide Shut_ ; apparently it had gotten good reviews and was Kubrick’s last film, blah, blah, blah: it looked weird.

At least they were out of the brownstone for once. On an actual date, miles away from the “prying eyes” - her words - in Harlem.

Still, Mariah kept her distance: standing off to the side as he bought tickets and making sure to walk several feet in front of him. Even now as they stood in line for concessions, she barely acknowledged his presence. It was frustrating. He knew why they couldn’t been seen together in their hood, but they were perfectly fine here: he’d never even been to this part of the city before. But whatever.

He stared longingly at the line forming for _Blair Witch_. “You know, it’s not late to change your mind...”

This again. Mariah rolled her eyes, didn’t even bother to turn around. “Hernan, if you want to see that movie, go ahead; I’ll be perfectly fine by myself.”

“Damn. That’s cold.” Colder still that he had to have this conversation with the back of her head.

She softened a bit, as she found herself doing more and more with him. “I didn’t say I **wanted** to see it alone...”

He took a step towards her. “Good. You’re not.”

Her lips curled into a satisfied smirk. He was half a foot away but she could feel him behind her. The heat from his body, his eyes on her. She fought the urge to lean back against him, wrap his arms around her waist. And good thing she did: before she could consider the impulse further, a familiar voice rang out.

“Councilwoman!”

She’d been spotted. An amiable man in his early sixties waved from across the theater lobby, just a little too excited to see her. Mariah snapped to attention, quickly sliding into work mode. She put a few more steps between herself and Hernan as the man and his significantly younger wife - perhaps Mariah’s age - made a beeline for her.

“Councilman Hale, hi!” Mariah smiled through gritted teeth. She was used to being stopped in Harlem, but it was starting to happen more and more all over the city. Though most people couldn’t say exactly why they recognized her, just that they knew her face. If only this was one of those times.

The man pulled her into a warm hug. “I told you: call me Jerry!”

“Jerry, good to see you.” Mariah managed to squirm out of his grasp, but he kept a hand on her shoulder as they talked. Not in a creepy way, just...too familiar.

“Never expected to see you this far south.”

“I like to get out and see what the rest of the city has to offer.” Mariah was finding that the easiest lies to tell were the ones that were mostly the truth.

“Good one; I’ll have to use it the next time I try to drag this one north of 86th.” He chuckled and gestured towards his wife. “This is Susan.”

It was now Susan’s turn to envelop Mariah in an unwanted embrace. “We’re huggers, hi! I’ve heard so much about you. Your people must be so proud of you.”

Mariah fought the instinct to snarl at the woman, instead twisting her face into a “gracious” smile.

Susan stammered, realizing how that must have sounded. “Your family, I mean.”

“They are Susan, thank you.” A complete lie that she wished was true.

Jerry shot a glance at Hernan. For a random guy in line, he seemed way too concerned with their conversation.

Knowing better, but not really giving a fuck, Hernan stared right back at him, unnerving the man.

“Don’t worry, my man, we’re not line jumping; just saying hi to a friend,” Jerry reassured him.

“Cool.” Hernan didn’t sound cool at all.

Mariah was quick to redirect Jerry’s attention. “So what are you here to see?”

“ _Arlington Road_ ,“ he beamed.

“His second time,” Susan teased. “He insisted that I had to see it.”

“Everyone needs to see this movie” they said in unison - him quite seriously, her mockingly - before bursting into the bourgiest laughter you ever did hear.

Hernan cleared his throat loudly. The line was moving and these three were holding it up. This time, they all shot him an annoyed look before taking a few steps forward, filling in the gap.

“How about you, Mariah?”

“The new Tom Cruise movie.”

“Ooh, I hear that’s racy, you seeing it alone?” Susan pried.

Mariah shook her head. “My friend, she went to go grab our seats, while I get snacks” _You nosy bitch._ “What time does your movie start?”

Susan checked her watch. “Oh, shoot. Honey, we’d better go.” Jerry nodded in agreement.

“It was nice meeting you,Mariah!“

“You too, Susan.”

Jerry waved goodbye as they hustled towards their theater. “I’ll see you next week!”

As soon as they were out of sight, Mariah exhaled, unclenched. She had not been prepared to deal with these types tonight and Hernan had been the opposite of helpful. She turned to face him, irritated, only to find that he was pretty salty himself.

“Guess I’ll go get our seats.” He thrust a twenty at her and strolled away.

 

* * *

  
The theater was about half full of mostly middle-aged white people. Hernan couldn’t recall ever being around so many at once. He made a point to select an empty row in the back, just in case Miss Popular had more friends in attendance.

He mulled over their interaction with the Councilman, over the night so far. Logically, he knew why Mariah didn’t introduce him, why she kept so much space between them, why it was so hard to get her out, but he still felt like a fucking chump.

A while later, Mariah entered with snacks, setting a tub of popcorn in the seat beside her and handing him a bag of Reese’s Pieces, which he accepted without a word. He wouldn’t even make eye contact.

“Here.” She held out the $20. ”The Icee machine broke.”

“I don’t want that.” **He** was supposed to be taking **her** out.

“Alright.” She pocketed the money.

They sat in silence, Hernan pointedly watching the pre-show. He could tell he was coming  off like an asshole, but he was in his feelings.

 

* * *

  
Mariah let him have his moment, sitting there sulking like an overgrown baby. He was being so...typical. He’d been trying to assert himself all night: first with the movie selection, then with keeping an appropriate distance, and now this? It wasn’t enough that she agreed to go out, now he expected her to introduce him to her colleague? “Oh hi, Jerry, Susan, have you met the toddler I’m fucking?” What planet was he on?

The theater darkened, the previews came and went. Thirty minutes in, Nicole Kidman was rolling around with her nipples out for the umpteenth time, smoking a joint and whining about being seen as a beautiful sex object. How profound.

Mariah stole a glance at Hernan. Bless him, he was trying, but he looked even less enthused than she did. Bored, really.

She hated herself for even bothering, but she reached over and slid her hand into his. He seemed receptive - smiled a little, grazed her hand with his thumb - so she lifted up the arm rest and snuggled up to him as he wrapped his arm around her.

Now Tom and Nicole were arguing. Or something. Mariah couldn’t focus: this was the closest they’d been all night. She’d missed his touch. She moved her hand to his chest, started playing with the buttons on his shirt. As far as she was concerned, the movie was over.

“You smell good,” she whispered.

“Mm.” Hernan had been doing his best to pay attention and now it seems she was doing hers to distract him. He glanced down to find her staring at him. With those eyes.  
He leaned down, titled her head toward his, and kissed her. Before either of them knew it, they were full on making out. In the back row of a movie theater. Like eighth graders.

Mariah slid her hand down to his pants to caress his growing hardness.

He nearly jumped out of his seat. “What are you doing?!”

“Nothing.” She smiled and continued to do “nothing” a little more firmly.

He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t stop her. Instead, he slid his hand between her thighs and began stroking her through her underwear, wiping the self satisfied smile off her face.  
It was on. Breath heavy, skin flushed, they turned back toward the screen and pretended to watch as they fondled each other.

Mariah sighed lightly and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat. Hernan could feel her panties growing slick against his touch and, without giving it much thought, pushed them aside and slid a finger inside her. Her eyes popped open. She gasped, held back a whimper. Delighting in the look on her face, he added another finger. The sound she’d been fighting to hold in escaped from her lips.

She was in heaven, his fingers slowly fucking her, his thumb pressed against her clit. Soon she was rocking in her seat. Hernan picked up the pace, pistoning his fingers, reaching deeper and deeper inside her as she bit her lip to keep quiet. She was almost there. She covered his hand with hers, holding his fingers in place, and bucked against them, riding his hand into ecstasy. Suddenly, she stopped, let out a silent scream. Face contorted, hands pressing him more firmly against her, body shaking.  
Hernan leaned over and sucked the side of her neck as he felt her contract around his fingers.

She clutched the sides of his face and kissed him desperately, her legs still shaking.

Slowly, her breathing returned to normal and he withdrew his hand, wiping it on his pant leg, and kissed her on her forehead.

Back in her right mind, Mariah felt a little guilty. Greedy, really: she hadn’t properly reciprocated. She reached for his belt buckle. This time he stopped her, shook his head no.

“Later,” he whispered. “I’m good being here with you.”

He slung his arm back around her, holding her close. For once, Mariah decided to just let herself enjoy the moment. She’d deal with her fucked up emotions later.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mariah and Shades spend a holiday weekend together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made some changes after posting. Always be fixing.

It was Labor Day weekend and still hot as hell in Harlem. The city was in the midst of a record-breaking heat wave and showing no signs of cooling down.

Mariah hadn’t seen Hernan in days - she’d been swamped with the last-minute crunch before the holiday - but he’d been blowing her up, practically begging to let him take care of her. With their “mutual friend” out of town for God knows what - probably already cheating on his new girlfriend - now seemed like the perfect time.

Imagine her surprise when Hernan showed up Saturday morning with bags full of groceries. She had no idea that “taking care of her” meant making breakfast while she read the paper. She’d offered to help but he declined.

Fine. Seemed like he’d made up his mind about how the day would go. She decided she was going to let him take charge. _Today._

Standing over the stove, Hernan flipped the omelette sizzling in the pan, sending a splash of hot oil flying. “Ah! Fuck!”

Mariah looked up from her paper to find him waving his hand in pain. “You alright over there?”

“Yup.” He straightened up, shrugged it off like nothing had happened.

She eyed him skeptically.

“I’m an excellent cook,” he assured.

“‘Excellent,’” she laughed. “Your momma teach you to scramble a few eggs and now you’re a master chef.”

“Nah. Taught myself.” He was quiet for a moment, suddenly very focused on the food frying in the pan. “It was mostly...just me at home.”

Mariah didn’t know how to respond to that - didn’t seem like he expected her to - so she didn’t. Another layer peeled back.

She watched him turn off the burners, slide the omelette onto a plate, and bring it  
to the table. He set it down in front of her and her eyes grew wide with surprise. This was elaborate as fuck: Cajun shrimp omelette, turkey sausage, fresh fruit, wheat toast, garnish, the whole nine.

“You learned all this on your own?”

“Picked up some stuff from my friends’ moms, too,” he confessed as he pulled up a chair. “It’s a trip: I don’t know shit about mofongo, but I can throw down on some mac & cheese.”

“That, I’d like to see.”

“Maybe you will,” he hinted.

“What, you got a whole day of meals over there?”

“You got somewhere to be?” he volleyed.

“No,” she smiled.

He watched that small smile turn into a full on grin as she took her first bite of omelette. “Good?”

“Mmhmm.” She nodded, noticed that he hadn’t made himself a plate. “You not hungry?”

“I’m gonna eat upstairs.”

Mariah paused. _Did she hear that right?_ The devious look on his face was her confirmation. Suddenly her cheeks were hot. Ears, neck, every part of her burning up. She managed to maintain her composure. “Is that right?”

He pulled his chair closer. “Mmhmm.”

She offered him a blackberry and he ate it from her hand, nibbling and sucking on her fingers.

She patted his cheek and abruptly rose from her seat.

“Where you going?”

“ **Upstairs**.” _Duh._

 

* * *

  
Mariah was excited, but couldn’t help feeling anxious. Entertaining in her bedroom was a risk. She’d ended so many nights by socking a dude in the face or tearfully fleeing to the safety of her bathroom, that it eventually became a matter of complete trust: who made her feel comfortable, who wouldn’t trigger her, who was least like **him**.

Having the master now helped - she hadn’t set foot in her old room since returning to New York - but the dark thoughts were pervasive. She didn’t want to think about any of that with Hernan. She wanted to make better memories.

She could hear him cleaning up downstairs. He’d be done soon and thinking about not thinking about things was not productive. So she plopped down onto the bed and turned to her most reliable method of distraction: work.

And that’s how Hernan found her: stripped down to her underwear, propped up on her elbows, laser-focused, going over some sort of report. He grabbed the stool from her vanity and set a bowl on the nightstand.

He took a seat and peered over her shoulder, couldn’t resist running his hand along her back. “What are we reading now?”

“A couple proposals.”

“For what?” He reached into the bowl and produced an ice cube.

“How to allocate our budget surplus. This one suggests-” She stopped short, feeling cold against her skin.

Hernan was drawing light circles on the back of her neck. “I’m listening.“ He leaned over and softly kissed the spot where the ice had been.

She stammered and pressed on. “It suggests that we...use the funds to...bolster the parks...budget.” She was having trouble focusing: now he was dragging the ice along her shoulder and tracing the trail with his tongue. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you cool.” He kissed the round of her shoulder. “I saw this in a movie.” And had been thinking about it since the day she caught him in the kitchen.

“Everyone saw that movie.”

“Then why’d you ask me what i was doing?”

He had her there. She whipped her head toward him and stifled a laugh. Buried her face in her arm, chagrined. Pushed the proposals aside.

He peeled off his t-shirt and climbed onto the bed, hovering over her to reach the opposite  side of her body. “Tell me more about you running the city.” He drew the ice along her other shoulder, licked and kissed his way from her upper arm to the side of her neck.

“I’m not running anything-“ She sighed, pushed herself to keep talking.

“Sadly, a lot of what we do...is simply maintain the status quo, but I’m trying...to...make some...real changes.” The dueling sensations - the chill of the ice, the warmth of his mouth - were scrambling her brain.

“Mmm.” Hernan unhooked her bra and grabbed a new cube, using it to scrawl big letters across her back: S, H, A, D, E, S.

She shivered as he drew a long line beneath the letters. “What’d you write?”

“My name.”

“‘Hernan.’ Cute.”

He didn’t correct her. Instead, he licked the center of her back. “It’s not supposed to be cute, it’s supposed to be sexy. Means you’re mine.”

She chuckled, a little taken aback. “I don’t know about all that.”

He raised an eyebrow, grabbed another ice cube, and set it between her shoulder blades watching it slowly glide down her pretty, brown skin. He moved further down the bed to slurp the water pooling in the small of her back, causing her to inhale sharply.

He retrieved the melting cube with his teeth and pulled down her panties. Mariah was eager to help, raising her hips so he could peel them off completely.

He dragged what was left of the ice to the top of her ass and released it, running his tongue between her cheeks to catch the melting water.

Mariah held her breath and parted her legs. He’d built up her anticipation so high and this was the first promise of release.

He ran his hands along her backside and began to massage her lower body, squeezing her ass, working his way down toward her thighs, parting her folds.

Gripping the cuff of her ass, he slowly pressed his thumb inside her and Mariah finally exhaled, it felt so good. He slid in and out watching her lips cling to his thumb, feeling it become more slick with each pass. Listened as her breath quickened.

She scooted down the bed, trying to drive it further inside her and, much to her dismay, he pulled away.

He lifted her onto her hands and knees and brought his face to her center, his breath sending chills down her spine. He gripped the backs of her thighs and pressed his mouth against her. Darted his tongue in, out, swirled it inside her, sucked at her clit.

Mariah rocked against his face, panting, desperate to come. She was close this time. Really, really close.

Once again, he denied her: offering her one last kiss between her legs before trailing to her inner thigh and backing away.

She whimpered in protest: enough was enough. She craned her neck to see what was going on back there, watched him stand and step out of his basketball shorts, springing to full attention.

It occurred to her that, although she’d gotten glimpses here and there, this was the first time she’d seen him completely naked. It was an utter fucking delight. He was hiding a lot of body beneath those baggy clothes: tight, lean muscle, a smattering of tattoos, dick for days.

She realized it was his first time seeing her, too. It felt so normal, natural. She wasn’t concerned about how she looked or how he thought she looked. All she could think about was him inside her. He was hard, clearly ready to go. So what was the problem?

He caught her looking and there was that devious smile again.

“Stop,” she demanded.

“Stop what?” Disingenuous. He knew exactly what.

“Stopping!”

He smirked and opened a condom, rolled it on. “Then you gotta tell me.”

“What?” _Anything, please!_

He climbed back onto the bed, positioned himself behind her. “Whose is it?” He gripped her ass with one hand and used the other to rub himself against her entrance.

Mariah whimpered and tried to push back against him.

He held her off. “Hmm?”

“Hernan…” She wasn’t ready to say that. Or anything like it.

“Whose. Is it?” He teased entry, pressing just the tip inside, then quickly pulling back out. Then again. Again.

Mariah was beside herself. She couldn’t take it. She felt him press against her again and, finally, she blurted it out: “Yours.”

He pushed in a little further this time but pulled out just the same.

He wanted to hear it again and she knew it. “Yours!”

This time he gave it all to her, gripping her waist and plunging deep within her walls.

Mariah relished in the sweet, familiar pain. Him inside her, filling her up. Again, she cried out: “Yours!”

His pace quickened and she matched it stroke for stroke, throwing it back, grinding against him. Soon she was speaking in tongues and coming hard, while he showed no signs of stopping.

Mariah was experiencing sensory overload, legs shaking as he kept thrusting. She’d begged for this and now the pleasure was overwhelming her. She tried to crawl away, but Hernan held on tight.

“Why you running?” He pulled her legs out from under her, laying her flat on her stomach, didn’t let up one bit. Gripped the rungs of the headboard as he pounded away.

This new angle produced a new sensation. She could feel him reaching for a part of her she wasn’t sure had been touched before. She spread her legs a little more and there it was: blinding, jaw dropping pleasure. She screamed. Screamed her fucking head off.

Hernan slowed down, pressing against that spot more deliberately. She brought her forearm to her mouth and bit down hard. Snaked her other hand between her legs and rubbed her clit until, convulsing, damn near crying, and utterly useless, she collapsed.

Hernan propped himself up on his elbow, kissed and rubbed her back until her breathing returned to normal.

He pulled out and rolled onto his side, facing her. “You okay?”

She turned to look at him, but all she could do was laugh.

He spotted the bite mark on her arm and frowned. Kissed it. Then he kissed her.

She was stunned to feel him press against her thigh, still at full attention. “You didn’t?”

“Not yet.”

Not sure she was up for another round, she took him in her hand, condom still slick, and started massaging him.

“Mmm, baby,” he groaned.

 _Baby?_ She’d never been into pet names but it didn’t sound terrible coming from him. “That feel good?”

He grunted affirmatively. It felt too good. He reached over to cup her breasts: taking one, then the other in his hand, kneading the soft flesh, rolling her nipples between his fingers, feeling them harden under the pressure.

They stayed like that for a while, watching each other’s faces as the played with one another. Mariah ran her thumb along the underside of his shaft, pressed it against the head and he shuddered. He didn’t want to finish like this. He trailed his fingers down her stomach, caressed her between her legs. She was still so wet.

Mariah was ready. She smiled, released him from her grasp, and rolled onto her back, tugging at his arm to pull him on top of her. Clutched his neck to bring him down for a deep, longing kiss.

He eased into her and they moaned into each other’s mouths, connected in every possible way. She wrapped her legs around his waist and they rocked together. Slowly, intensely. Her running her hands up and down his back, his face buried in her neck, heat growing between their bodies.

“Hernan,” she whispered.

“Hm?” He was in heaven, could literally stay like this forever.

“Come for me.” She squeezed tight, gripping him inside her, breaking his rhythm.

He whimpered, could feel his entire body tensing, on the edge of release. But he wasn’t ready.  

“Come for me,” she panted. “...I’m yours.”

That did it: he grunted and slowed down even more, pumping firmly, deeply. His voice getting louder and louder with each stroke until finally, his whole body seized up. He trembled and thrust himself as far as he could reach, one last time. Dropped his head to her chest and devolved into a moaning mess.

“Oh my God,” he exhaled. They kissed again as he withdrew, pulled off the condom, and flopped onto his side.

She turned to face him, stared at him like she was trying to figure out what to say. Or unsay.

It made him nervous. “What?”

“You...” She reached over and touched his face. “Have nice eyelashes.”

He burst out laughing, relieved. “Okay.”

“What?” _What’s so funny?_

“Nothing. Every guy wants to hear he’s pretty.”

“I mean it.”

“Don’t you mean everything you say?”

She shot him a warning look.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “You’re mine, right?”

She shook her head, only slightly regretting her words. “You really feeling yourself today.”

He bit his lip, was very serious. “I’m feeling **you**.”

She blinked. Pressed her lips together, forming not-quite-a-smile. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking and frankly, she couldn’t either. The things she feared would come up were far from her mind; today, she was a different type of mess.

He let go of her, pushed himself out of bed, pulled on his shorts.

“Where you going?” _Had she just screwed up?_

“To check on the mac & cheese.”

She lit up, relieved. “So that’s the plan: fuck and eat all day?”

“All **weekend**.”

 _Well, shit._ “Okay.“

She was good with that.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little tired of their routine, Hernan pushes Mariah to shake things up. And boy does she.

Sunday night in Harlem.

Mariah sprawled out on the couch, head against Hernan’s chest and nose buried in a book, waiting for _The Practice_ to come on. It was her favorite- like **favorite** favorite. Hernan had learned the hard way when he showed up one night after 10 o’clock and she left him waiting outside until the next commercial break. She’d sooner answer the phone during sex than she would during her show. That and _Law & Order_.

She’d managed to rope him into the former, but watching cops track, catch, and imprison people in a crisp sixty minutes was not Hernan’s idea of a good time. That show didn’t understand real life, the shit people had to do to survive. The hard choices they had to make. Mariah ate it up though, which surprised him. You’d think, considering her family history, she’d see things his way, but no: she said it soothed her, seeing “bad people” brought to justice. Lot of people must have felt the same way because now they had a new one coming out. What made the victims on that one more special than the ones on the other he did not know and didn’t care to find out. The Practice, however, was okay. The other side of the law. Showed “criminals” as actual people, defense attorneys who cared about doing their jobs.

Mariah kept looking up from her book, checking the time. Surely she’d seen the episode before - the new season had yet to begin - but she was camped out like it was the premiere or something. Everything they were doing tonight, they’d done before. Sure, things in the bedroom (living room, dining room, foyer, and damn near every other space in the brownstone) remained exciting, but on a basic level, Sunday night had become a routine: dinner, maybe a little reading, TV, sex. Sometimes she’d let him stay the night. Sometimes he couldn’t (“work”). Minor deviations from a standard play.

Hernan wasn’t used to this; consistency and routine had never been part of his life. He supposed they weren’t unwelcome, especially with Mariah, but they just felt…weird. Made him feel anxious. Or maybe it was what he had in mind next that was causing the anxiety.

He checked his watch - 9:50, enough time to ease into this conversation. He began brushing her shoulder lightly, feigning nonchalance. “You ever get tired of this?”

“Of what?”

“Us here. Me just coming over. Reading stuff, watching stuff.”

She chuckled, eyes never leaving the page. ”If I was, I wouldn’t let you in.”

“We should do more.” All pretense had dropped away; he was insistent.

Mariah marked her place and closed the book. Cast her eyes toward the ceiling. Was this about to be a thing?“We went to the mov-“

“We went to the movies **one** time.”

“And we ran into someone I knew. “ She could feel him rolling his eyes behind her, but she was dead serious. “ **Professionally**.”

“Come on,” he slipped his arms beneath hers, wrapped them around her waist. “Don’t you ever want to get dressed up? Try a new restaurant?”

“I do those things-“

“With me. Dance. People watch. Go for a walk. Outside?”

Mariah pulled away from him and sat up, annoyed. He was not going to make her feel guilty for looking out for herself and he damn sure wasn’t going to make her miss her show. 

“I‘m not an agoraphobe, Hernan, I just don’t want to run the risk.” She twisted her body toward him, looked him dead in his eye. “If you’re bored-”

“I don't know anyone in Philly, do you?”

Now she was irritated **and** confused. “Yes, of course i do.”

He shook his head, got up and retrieved an envelope from his jacket, handed it over to her. Watched closely for her reaction.

Bewildered, she reached inside and pulled out two tickets. Her eyes grew big. “Maxwell?!”

He beamed as he rejoined her on the couch. “Doubt you’ll run into any of your people there.”

“How did you-“ She took a closer look at the tickets. “Wait, ‘Tuesday.’ **This** Tuesday? The day after tomorrow?

“Yeah.”

She visibly deflated. “It’s the middle of the week. I have a breakfast on Wednesday.”

Undeterred, he leaned in and bumped her shoulder with his. “You can’t make time for his ‘sexy, sanging ass’?”

He was never gong to let her live that comment down. “Well, how would we get there? My driver can’t take us, he’ll see you. Can’t have one of Cornell’s do it, he’ll see **us**.”

“I can rent a car.”

“Don’t you have to be twenty-five?”Lord. she was laying up with someone too young to rent a car. Did he even know how to drive?

“I’ll take care of it.”

“But-“

“Do you want to go or not?”

Mariah chewed her bottom lip. She did want to go, it was just the logistics that troubled her. Then again…her friend Steph loved Maxwell. Maybe-

“Before you start scheming, me and these tickets? Package deal.”

 

* * *

 

Tuesday evening.

A black town car idled outside the brownstone. Mariah appeared at the top of the stoop, heels in hand, done up in what passed for casual in her world: a simple wrap dress. She made her way down the steps and stood patiently by the car’s back door, waiting to to be ushered in. Instead, the passenger side window rolled down. Mariah peered inside to find Hernan giving her the once-over her from the driver’s seat.

“Evening, Madame Councilwoman.”

She raised an eyebrow, somewhat impressed, but mostly suspicious. She wasn’t even going to ask. “Good evening.”

“I’d get out and open the door for you, but you know: ‘prying eyes.’”

She suppressed a smirk and climbed inside.

* * *

Traffic on the 95 was shit: not quite bumper-to-bumper, but it seemed like a lot more stopping than going. Didn’t bother Hernan too much; at least the company was good. Mariah had brought work with her, but had yet to touch it. They’d been talking the whole time. He did his best to keep his eyes on the road, but couldn’t help stealing glances here and there. Like now. She had kind of a dreamy look on her face, like she was lost in a memory.

“Aretha.”

“Damn.”

“It was a long time ago,” she conceded.

“Nah, I mean…that’s major”

She nodded. “One of the first to play Harlem’s Paradise. I was underaged, but I begged and begged Mama Mabel to let me go anyway. Took her something like three days to agree to it. Later I’d find out I didn’t have to do all that groveling; she’d wanted to take me all along.” Mariah smiled wistfully. This was one of the few decent Mama Mabel stories she had. “And it was awesome. This was before anybody called her the queen of anything, but her voice..so magnificent, regal. You just knew.” A moment passed and Mariah’s smile faded. Darkness clouded her face. “She was the first woman I ever saw command a room without having to wave a gun.”

Hernan knew that was a shot at Mama Mabel but still felt that pierce his chest. Mariah looked sad now. He reached over and rubbed her knee, trying to snap her out of it.

“She do Respect?”

Mariah perked up. “You know she did.” She put her hand over his, scrunched up her face. “I’m a little scared to ask about your first concert.”

“Naughty by Nature.” He looked over at her, uncertain. “They sing O.P.-“

“I know who they are." She lightly slapped his upper arm and he shrugged a silent apology.

“I was underaged too, but wouldn’t have mattered if I wasn’t; me and my boys, we barely had lunch money those days.” The widest grin took over his face; this shit still cracked him up. “So we decide to put on our flyest gear and show up at the back door, to hustle the security guard.”

“Oh, God.”

“Said that Che was Treach’s little brother.”

“No!”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “We were idiots. Thought it’d be easy cuz dude was white and they can’t tell nobody apart, but he made my boy do like half the songs on the album before he ‘kiiinda’ started to see the resemblance.” He shook his head. “We looked stupid as hell, spittin’ and beat boxing in the back alley. But we got in.”

She side-eyed him playfully. “Sounds about right.”

He countered with a side-eye of his own. “Oh, you got jokes.”

* * *

 

The concert was amazing, damn near magical. Maxwell put on a good show, had them singing, dancing, out of their seats swaying to the music. It was a real date. For once, they were a normal couple doing normal couple things and nobody cared because they, too were grown-assed couples minding their grown-assed business…or single folk trying to figure out how to get their draws on stage. Philly had definitely been the move.

After, they strolled through the parking lot, hands intertwined, savoring their last moments before the drive back to Harlem.

She squeezed his arm. “I didn’t know you knew Maxwell like that.”

“What, you thought I was all Bad Boy, Wu Tang…”

“Naughty By Nature,” she added. _Yeah, kinda._

“You don’t give me enough credit.”

Direct hit. Maybe he hadn’t meant it so seriously, but Mariah took it to heart.

“You’re right,” she admitted.

He stopped in his tracks, face twisted in exaggerated shock. “Whaaaa-”

“Don’t,” she warned.

“-aaaat?”

Embarrassed, she tried to pull away, but he held her hand tight, pulling her back in his orbit. “No, this is a big deal, you just said I was right.”

“I just meant that..” She cast her eyes downward, searched for the words. “Sometimes…”

“I know what you meant.”

She met his gaze. Was it supposed to be this easy?

They were at the car now. He opened her door and she pulled him close, sandwiching herself between him and their ride. Looked up at him, couldn’t help but smile.He cupped her cheek, leaned in, and…Mariah yawned. Right in his face.

It was time to go.

* * *

The ride home was quiet. Mariah was knocked out before they even made it out of the lot, leaving Hernan alone with his thoughts. Well, tonight it was just the one thought.

Back in Harlem, he escorted her to the door, then upstairs. His staying the night was a forgone conclusion.

Finally in her room, he kicked off his shoes and hopped onto the bed. Watched as she stepped out of her heels and removed her earrings, returning them to their rightful homes. Craned his neck as she stepped into the bathroom, retrieving a scarf and a plastic cap and began wrapping her hair.

“You about to shower?”

“Mmhmm,” she chirped, tying the scarf 'round her head.

“Now?”

Mariah peered out at him and did a double-take: he’d stripped down to his boxer briefs. How the hell? She was not going to let him laid up in her bed, looking all delicious distract her. Nope. “I told you I have a breakfast tomorrow.”

He sucked his teeth, unconvinced.

“And I’ve been on my feet all day. I’m disgusting.”

“Let me see.”

She shook her head no, but seemed like her feet missed the memo: before she knew it, she was standing right in front of him. Shit. He was going to keep her up all night.

“Hernan…”

“I just wanna see something.”

He set his hands on her hips, stared at her dress as if he was trying to develop x-ray vision. She caressed his face and he kissed the inside of her hand. Pulled her close, pressing his lips to her stomach. Tugged at her belt, unknotting it. Took his time slipping the dress off her shoulders and onto the floor. Made quick of unhooking her bra and casting it aside. Panties, too; on the floor they went.

Mariah held her breath as his hands traveled up her sides, circled her breasts. He leaned in, taking the left one in his mouth, kissing it softly. “Mmm,” he remarked, swirling his tongue around her nipple. “You don’t taste disgusting.”

Mariah closed her eyes and grazed his scalp as he made his way across her chest, leaving a trail of hot saliva in his wake. She yelped as his lips found her right nipple and sucked hungrily, setting off throbbing between her legs. She moaned as he kept at it, gripping her ass and pullied her onto his lap.

She ran her hands down his back and drawled. “It’s laaaate.”

He backed off, exposing her to the cold air. Looked at her very seriously. “You want me to stop?”

Well shit, not now! But he knew that. So she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed herself against his growing hardness. Began grinding in his lap. It was his turn to moan. He could feel her heat, her wetness through the fabric of his underwear. He slid his hand down to touch for himself, but Mariah wriggled away, suddenly very intent on freeing him from his Calvin Kleins. She tugged at his waistband and, ever the gentleman, he raised his hips to assist her.

He was rock hard, every inch of him looking so immensely fuckable, Mariah almost didn’t know where to start. Almost. Crouched at his side, she traced her fingers up his thighs, brushed his balls with the palm of her hand, watching his abs flex in anticipation. She wrapped her hand around him and pumped lightly, eliciting a hiss in response. Hernan clenched the sheets between his fists as she held him more firmly, ran her tongue from the his base up to the top. She had him now, planted a sweet kiss at his tip before swirling her tongue around it and taking him completely in her mouth.

Fuuuuuck. Hernan lay his head back and exhaled, relishing every second of being swallowed whole. He palmed her ass and inched toward her center. Toyed at her entrance. Began to finger her lazily, making her moan around him.

Just like that he was tight everywhere. Could feel himself getting close, but he wasn’t ready; he wanted to finish with her.

“Mariah.”

“Hmm?” she hummed, vibrations pushing him closer to release.

“Stop.”

She didn’t. She was playing with fire, she knew: the last time she made him come before he was ready, he ate her out for what felt like days, keeping her on edge until he was ready to go again, and then fucked her senseless. She missed three appointments that day. Still, she was determined, kept going. Tightened her grip at his base, pressed him against the back of her throat.

“Stop!” It was half plea, half command and enough to stop her in her tracks. She let him go. Sighed. Curled up next to him and watched the color return to his face.

“You weren’t enjoying yourself?”

He turned to her and nodded. “Yeah.” Reached down to massage her clit, dragging his thumb back and forth across her lips . “This is better.”

She bucked against his hand, leaned in to dart her tongue between his lips. To feel his slide between hers. He started to roll her on her back and she threw a leg over him, straddling him instead. He reached over to the nightstand for a condom, but Mariah caught his hand, cupping it around her breast. Took his other hand and did the same..

“You been with anybody else?”

“No.” He was bewildered, almost offended by the question.

“Me either,” she exhaled.

She leaned over and kissed him again. Pushed onto her knees and lined him up against her. Inhaled sharply as she gently eased her way down. Ached as his thickness penetrated her folds, practically pried her open. Took hold of her.

Hernan watched himself disappear inside her, slowly losing his mind. He’d never...he didn’t know...fuck! Everything was a lie: Santa was real, Biggie was alive, good cops existed, and sex could feel like this. She was so wet, warm, and tight around him..he wanted to touch every part of her with every part of him. And he did, running his hands up and down her body, kissing her everywhere he could reach, kneading her breasts, her hips, her thighs, her ass. There was no better feeling than this right here.

Until she moved. Rolled her hips, rose and fell against him. He yelled. Cursed. Bit his tongue and held on for dear life. He was overwhelmed. There was more to this feeling? He gazed up at her - she looked equally wowed - reached out to touch her face, her mouth. Yanked off her scarf to rake his fingers through her hair.

Mariah was too in it to care, balancing herself with a hand against his chest, the other pressed against his taut stomach. It had been a while since she’d done this.He felt so good nestled inside her, his skin against hers, veins throbbing. It took everything in her not to just ride him into oblivion right then and there. Him first, she told herself. She leaned forward, gazing into his eyes, and rode him more deliberately, relishing the grunt that escaped his lips every time their bodies reconnected. He wasn’t quiet by any means, but he’d never been this noisy before. She loved it.

She raised herself up - “That feel good, Hernan? You like that?”

And rolled back down - grunt - knocking the wind out of him once more.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

 _More_. He didn’t have words but he had hands. He gripped her hips and guided her up and down, nearly pulling himself completely out before slamming back into her.

She yelped, shuddered, called his name. “Fuck me,” she demanded.

 _Faster_. Fingers digging into her flesh, now he was rising to meet her. Bodies slapping against each other, thrusting harder and faster still until - his whole body locked up. Face contorted. A guttural, almost inhuman noise erupted from some place deep within him. He clutched her, held her firmly in place - eyes never leaving her face - and exploded.

Mariah could feel him twitching inside her, spasmic, pulsing release. Felt the warmth spreading, first in spurts, then in a torrent, coating her insides. Filling her with a sense of euphoria. Before she knew it, she was coming too: walls contracting around him, legs quaking, ass jiggling in his hands, lungs screaming for air. Shuddering, arms giving out, her head collapsing against his chest.

“Mariah.” Hernan was beside himself. He’d regained use of his tongue and couldn’t stop saying her name. “Mariah, Mariah, Mariah.” He held onto her tightly, even as he grew soft and fell to the side, hot sticky liquid pooling in his lap.

They kissed -mouths open wide, tongues dancing - before moving onto other parts of one another. He nipped at her neck, she planted a few on his chest. He brought her hands to his lips and brushed them against all ten of her fingers. Both slowly coming down.

A long moment passed and he loosened his grip. She pushed herself onto her feet and scooped up her dress, her underwear. Wobbled toward the bathroom with his cum dripping down her thighs- now she really needed that shower. Shit, he did, too.

“You coming,” she called, turning on the tub faucet.

No response.

She peered out into her bedroom: he was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They've both been tested. Mariah's on the pill. There.


	9. Chapter 9

Harlem. Brownstone. Night.

Hernan sat at the kitchen table, devouring his third plate of food. Mariah rarely cooked for him and tonight was no exception. Today was her Deltaversary - twenty years since she’d crossed those burning sands - and she’d had her line sisters over for a dinner party. It had been eons since they’d all been in the same room, but once they were together? It was like no time had passed. Like it was two am and they were all crammed into a tiny dorm room commiserating over the bullshit of being on line. Now, instead of boy drama, it was trifling (ex-)husbands and new beaus. Instead of messy prophytes, it was bitchy coworkers. Instead of exams and papers, it was work and family.

Naturally, Mariah was evasive for much of it. Maybe evasive isn’t the word. Elusive? Some things the girls knew not to bring up, others they didn’t even know to ask. What little prying they did manage, she danced around effortlessly: spinning an inquiry on her love life into a celebration of Cheryl’s glimmering engagement ring. Turning questions about her cousin into a lamentation on the current state of music.

She knew she was on a roll when she actually scolded a few of them for openly lusting after Cornell - he was ten years their junior after all. They’d die if they knew she practically had a puppy pawing at the back door, whining to be let in. And the more they drank, the the more tempting It became to reveal that little tidbit.

The puppy in question had, once again, invited himself over. He was good for that. She’d initially resisted, but his offer to help clean up and take the extra food off her hands was too tempting to pass up. She hated leftovers. It seemed bougie to some, but when a meal was done, it was done; she didn’t like to dwell on anything, not even an expertly poached filet of salmon.

And there’d be no need; Hernan was, apparently, starving. At the rate he was going, there wouldn’t be anything left to pack up.

Mariah wound down her efforts, bringing the last of the dishes in from the dining room. Her phone chimed and she paid it no mind, carelessly plopping a stack of china onto the counter. She was tired, tipsy, and a clean kitchen was the only thing on her mind.

Her lack of interest piqued Hernan’s. The phone chimed again and he couldn’t help but take a look; it was practically sitting right in front of him.

Bold letters flashed across the screen: “You still up?”

Again, this time in all caps: “HELLO?”

Hernan glared at the device, doing his damndest to parse through all the 0s and 1s to reveal this mystery texter. Mariah hadn’t even bothered to save the guy(?) under a name, just a description. He stole a glance at her - she was nonchalant as fuck- shifted in his seat, tried to shrug it off. Dude was probably some lame twice his age who adjusted insurance claims, did taxes or some shit. Judging by the frequency and neediness of his messages, the guy was every bit as wack as his moniker suggested. Nothing to worry about, Hernan almost convinced himself.

Still…the dude had her number. And felt comfortable enough to hit her up this late at night.

 _“_ Who the fuck is this?” he wanted to ask. Instead, he tossed off a casual, but pointed “somebody’s blowing you up.”

Mariah shrugged, started running dishwater.

“He seems real pressed,” he needled, feeling rather pressed himself.

“Being a scavenger, same as you. I told him if I had anything left, I’d let him know.”

“So, if I hadn’t called….”

“If you hadn’t called,” she chuckled. A little too hard. Seemed like the only time he wasn’t calling was when he was already in the house. “Actually,” she turned off the faucet, wiped her hands dry, “I should text him back so he doesn’t come over here.”

Hernan, not nearly as amused, slid the phone out of her reach. What was happening here?

Mariah, squinted, wondering the same thing. Held out her hand expectantly.

He couldn’t get over how blasé she was about this. Was he trippin? The look on her face said “yes.”

“Who’s ‘Corny’..?”

“Cornell?” _Duh._

Hernan laughed, embarrassed but relieved. He was so, so dumb. Mariah plucked her phone from his grasp and began composing a message.

“He know you call him that?”

“If it’s in here, I’ll say it to your face.”

“What am I saved as?”

“What do I call you?”

Hernan’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. “Yooo, you gotta change that.” He grabbed at her phone as it chimed again. Mariah dodged him, intent on reading the incoming message. Looked like Cornell wasn’t taking the “no leftovers” news well.

“What’s the problem?” She clacked away at the buttons, not really listening for Hernan’s response. She was being pretty oblivious for someone so intent on keeping things quiet.

Hernan sauntered toward her, doing his best Cornell. “Hey Cuz, what does Hernan mean when says ‘you wet for me baby? I wanna taste it’ or ‘I’m gonna make you cum until you cry’?”

“Nobody told you to send me them nasty text messages.”

“Oh my bad,” he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “Is there a better way to respond to ‘in a meeting right now. Can’t stop thinking about sitting on it’?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Uh-huh.” _Go on…_

Mariah sniffed haughtily and pointed her nose in the air, doing her best to keep a straight face. “Thank you, I’m flattered.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” He brushed her hair aside, started kissing on her neck.

Mariah, was quiet - relishing his lips against her skin, his hands squeezing her hips - but not for long. “You have me saved under another name?”

“Amy,” he murmured. 

She scoffed, shrugged him off. “I seem like an Amy?”

Gotdamn, liquor made her chatty. “Point is, she’s nothing like you,” he explained.

Not good enough. “What’s she like then?”

He leaned back against the counter, the corners of his mouth curling into an exasperated smile.

“Stupid.“

“Ouch!”

He gave her a once-over. “Ugly. Really ugly.”

“Well, beauty is subjective.” She wasn’t about to let him dog her girl Amy out like this.

“Weak. You can’t really talk to her about anything, ‘cause she doesn’t know shit about shit. .

“Well, she is young.” She moved toward him, started toying with the buttons on his shirt.

“Not really. Maybe a little younger. But it doesn’t matter.”

She paused, raised an eyebrow.

He stammered, getting lost in the rules of his own game. “Wait, no. It does matter?“

“Poor girl,” Mariah clucked. She leaned in, traced the tip of her tongue along the seam of his lips. He slid his singers in her hair, cupping the back of her head. Met her tongue with his. Moved his hands down to her ass as she pressed the weight of her body against him. Started pulling up the hem of her dress.

She caught his hands and pulled away with a smirk. Handed him a pair of dishwashing gloves. Had he forgotten why he was here?

He groaned, but slipped them on with no argument.

She perched against the counter and watched him. Sipped at her half-drunk cocktail. He looked focused. Was always so deliberate. Careful. But he wasn’t focused at all. He couldn’t stop thinking about how good this was, wondering how it would play out. How he wished he’d known love before because maybe…

“What you think about kids?”

“Why, does Amy have any?”

“No-“

Mariah set her drink down, concern creeping across her face. What had he heard?

“-I don’t know.”He stopped washing dishes. He wasn’t playing anymore. “I’m asking you what you think.”

“What about them?”

“Some of my boys got ‘em and ...I don’t know if I want that.”

Mariah exhaled. Hadn’t even realized she’d stopped breathing.

“Growing up was shit. I wouldn’t want to put a kid through what I went through or even what they put their kids though. I’d want to do it right. Be better than mine.”

Relieved, Mariah reclaimed her drink “You’ve got plenty of time to figure that out.”

“Yeah, but…”

“What?”

“You don’t.”

She blinked. Shook her head. Sobered up real quick. He was watching her closely now. She’d never imagined having this conversation, so she didn’t…she didn’t know how to…

“Don’t factor me into any of your life decisions.”

“Why?”

“I’m not trying to be anybody’s baby mama.” Again.

He knew better, but he pressed anyway. “What if you weren’t just a baby mama?”

“Stop.” It was suddenly hot in the room.

“Mariah-“

“Stop.”

He bowed his head, steeled himself against the sink, while she stood there dumbly. In her own home, in her own kitchen, Mariah didn’t know whether to sit or stand. Come or go.

“So is that a no to kids or a no to me?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Well, fuck. “Forget it.”

Well she couldn’t. Why did he have to go there?“It’s been three months-“

“I’ve known you longer-“

“You didn’t know me-“

“-since I was eight years old.”

“And I was damn near thirty,” she snapped.

There it was. They’d had pieces of this argument a dozen times before while somehow managing to avoid having **the** argument. Well, fuck dancing around it.

“So I’m old enough-“

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.“

“-to have you screaming my name in every room of this house, but I try to talk to you about something real and all of a sudden-“

“ **Shades**.” Trump card. She could have left the room at any time - she probably should have - but she needed him to stop thinking like this. Like the hours between ten pm and seven am were enough to build a life together. Like a couple lazy weekends added up to a real, committed relationship. Because if he kept thinking like that, she might just start believing it. And that was unacceptable. She needed to remind them who they were. From seven am to ten pm.

Hernan stared down at his gloved hands. They were shaking. Nothing he said or did seemed to matter here; he may as well have been throwing his feelings into the fucking void. He wanted to break something, put his fist through..anything. He turned back to the dishes, picked up a plate. Felt it splintering in his grasp, quickly set it back down.He guessed this was love.

Mariah knew rage like no one else, but she’d never seen it so contained. She watched Hernan take a beat, refocus his energy. Felt a pang of something. Whatever it was made her reach out and touch him, place a hand on his back.

He nearly jumped out of his skin, but said nothing. Closed his eyes and let her rub his neck, rake her fingers across his scalp.

A long moment passed. She sighed, let her hand fall away. “Okay.”

“’Okay?’” Meaning what, exactly?

“I hear you.” That’s all she had.

He rolled his eyes: that was nothing.

“You going home tonight?”

“No.” Of course he wasn’t. He was going to take whatever scraps she offered..

“Good.” She picked up her phone, mashed a few buttons, offered it to him.

Peeling off his gloves, he turned to face her and took the phone in his hands. 

“What are you trying to say?”

“You tell me, ‘Big Papi.’”

Hearing it aloud. He couldn’t help but grin. “You know you have to call me that now.”

“Guess you’ll have to make me."

Damn. He didn't know how much longer he'd be this easy, but just like that, she had him again.


End file.
